


Hella Strong Coffee

by insurgentapostate



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, F/F, F/M, Shopping Malls, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insurgentapostate/pseuds/insurgentapostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holiday season is approaching and Roxy Lalonde and Sollux Captor are shit out of luck when it comes to money.  Roxy's sick of relying on her wealthy mom for cash, and Sollux's family just...doesn't have much to spare.  Individually, they apply for jobs at their local outlet mall to be Santa's Little Helpers.</p>
<p>Rose Lalonde is crushing hard on a frequent customer to the store next to the one she works at.  She's dying to at least speak to this gorgeous girl with jade green eyes.  However, Kanaya Maryam has her own crush who hardly even knows she exists.</p>
<p>A two ship, slow build fanfiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hella Strong Coffee

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you are more than ready to get the fuck out of here.

Here being the Sburb Outlet Mall. Sburb is a good place to get all sorts of cheap, name-brand shit that doesn't fit in the 'real' stores at Beforus Galleria. Usually, hanging around Sburb is a sub-par way of spending your time but a better option than spacing out at the TV for hours. However, usually it isn't three hours past closing, and half the time, Karkat's cursing isn't loud enough to give you an aneurism. Not to mention, usually you aren't freezing your ass off.

“I hate Christmas,” he declares at the top of his step ladder as he hammers nails into the mantle of a fake chimney place. From there, he's nearly as tall as you are. Nearly. “What the fuck is so great about hanging sparkly shit from dead, shredding trees, which don't smell nearly as good as everyone fucking claims. You're surrounded by fake smiles and annoying, repetitive music. I mean, sure, you get presents, but all the presents I ever get are shittier than a cow pasture in Montana. 'Great, it's Christmas. I get ten new copies of _Love Actually_ and a new outfit from Kanaya that everyone knows I'll wear once for pictures on Christmas and then bury deep in my closet never to be worn again. Whoopie fucking doo! But do you know what really gets me? Do you know what I hate even more than shitty presents, children singing, and the smell of peppermint and gingerbread burning the inside of my nostrils?”

“What'th that?” you prompt with your cheek in your hand as you watch him wield his hammer like a tiny, angry thunder god. He starts punctuating his words with each pound.

“I _hate_ putting up this god awful,” Bang. His words are dripping with displeasure. “Butt ugly 'Come Meet Santa' display in November at fucking midnight, in the freezing,” Bang. “Fucking,” Bang. “Cold-GOD DAMMIT!”

You let out an audible sigh as Karkat nurses his sore thumb. That was the third time the idiot hit it tonight. If it wasn't for the fact he has a car and you don't, you'd ditch this dumbass. But he does have a car, and he is your best friend. You suck it up and watch Karkat put up the rest of the display. It isn't as ugly as Karkat claims, but you can tell just how cheap it was to put together. The bright red, green, and gold paint has faded and chipped after years of use, but it still says 'Come Meet Santa' like Karkat complained. There's a big tree that's been decorated with blue and red lights with golden tinsel dripping like honey from the branches. In front of the tree is the painted fireplace with stockings hanging from each nail, all marked with something corny like 'Mom', 'Dad', 'Son', and 'Spot'. Tomorrow, the big red chair beneath the wooden banner will have a Help Wanted sign taped to it and poor teenagers will line up to wear dorky elf costumes for minimum wage. You will be one of them.

“Are you still planning on working this stupid thing?” Karkat asks as he finishes placing wrapped, empty boxes beneath the tree. The sparkly paper promises toys and happiness, but you're smart enough to know that all they hold is deceit. You sorta hate Christmas too. You scowl as you answer his question, following him to the parking lot.

“I have no choithe, KK,” you grumble, bumping into Karkat as he digs in his jacket pocket for keys. “I need the money thinthe my dad lotht hith job. Trutht me, if my dad thtill had hith fucking dignity inthtead of chauffeuring around Her Imperial Condebitchneth, I'd athk him for a car.”

Karkat scowls, regretting bringing up your chance of employment at all. He fumbles with unlocking the car as he ameliorates, grumbling, “Yeah, sorry. I always forget how fucking tough your financial situation is, considering the special care your brother needs-”

“The point ith,” you cut him off quickly, “I need a job. Therefor, I need to apply to be a thtupid elf at the thtupid thanta thing. Come on, KK, not everyone can jutht athk hith dad to find him a job."

Karkat's face twists up in anger once more, just like you predicted. You have come to be particularly skilled in pushing his buttons over the years, and his hair trigger temper makes for a quick subject change. He slams the car door behind him and starts up his rusty lemon before opening his mouth to speak.

“Oh yeah!” he yells as they drive off the property, “My dad's glamorous career as a janitor at the Sburb Outlet mall landed me the honorable position of cashier at The motherfucking Weenie Hut.”

 

-

 

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and your sassy, blonde beauty guarantees you this job. You were practically made to be an elf. Happiness and cheer practically radiated from your hot bod. You had this interview in the bag. Hard candies in an old lady's purse like. There is no chance that you won't be cheerfully handing candy canes to kids under ten within the week. You hope.

Okay, truth be told, you're nervous as fuck all. You have never had a job in your life. You have never even applied for a job in your life. Hell, there has never been a reason to. Your mom is pretty damn wealthy and you've been leeching off of her like a normal teenager for your whole life. It wasn't until college that you realized that job experience was kind of important.

So, here you are, in a part of the mall you didn't know existed, waiting for your name to be called by some douchecanoe your sister called 'Doc Scratch.' There weren't too many others here to apply; probably because you opted for a later interview. You look around the room and the competition doesn't seem too tough. There's a hipster with purple hair and a nice scarf sitting next to you. Hot as fuck, you think. 10 out of 10 would mack on, but shit like that could wait. In the corner is a nervous kid in a wheelchair, and across from you is some geeky looking guy with 3D shades and a massive overbite. Hehe, dork. You let your mind wander until a girl with a hella sweet kitty beanie comes prancing out of the office and you hear your name called.

“Roxy Lolanday?” The fuck did he just call you? You are pretty sure none of these penis possessors are named Roxy, so he must be talking to you. Still, that's one hell of a mispronunciation. Despite that, you hop to your feet, grab your purse, and head into the office.

Holy shit.

That is a lot of green.

This guy must have some strange obsession with golf or pool or something, because from floor to ceiling, everything that isn't wooden is green. The hard carpet is green. The walls are green. The chair cushions are green. Everything is fucking green. Holy fucking shit. The chair frames, desk, and shelves, and everything not the color of a Chia pet on a golf course is made from dark wood. On the wall behind the desk was a set of mounted pool balls. That answers your initial observation.

The man behind the desk is pretty unsettling. He's pale as a sheet with a bald, round head and a green and white suit. His beady red eyes, small features and knowing smile makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Overall, he reminds you of a pool-themed batman villain. A creepy one. The kind that hits on the damsel in distress and makes you want to puke your lunch. You swallow your lunch and take your seat when he asks you to. You try not to make any judgments too soon. Who knows, maybe he could be a cool boss?

“My name is Lalonde, Mr. Scratch,” you correct, scooting up to the desk in your chair.

“I know your name, Ms. Lalonde,” he replies smugly. His voice sounds like how a cow-pie soaked in febreeze smells. You want to gag on it as he continues, “I work with your sister, remember?”

Okay, so the likeliness of this guy being a cool boss are low. You've already heard tons of stories of verbal harassment from your sister, Rose, and he already gives you the douchiest vibe.

“Goodness, you are just as cute as your sister,” he says as he eyes you in a way that makes you want to pull up the front of your shirt to hide your cleavage. You might be a little on edge and definitely overreacting. He wasn't doing anything seriously creepy. He called you cute. Hell, you are cute. You embrace the cute.

“Thank you, Mr. Scratch,” you reply with a pinch of smugness. 5 feet and 4 inches of concentrated kittens and bubblegum. 50 shades of hella cute, that's you.

“ _Doctor_ Scratch,” he drawls, accentuating his correction. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. What kind of PhD did this guy have if he worked at an outlet mall? Definitely not one in being interesting. Listening to him is like swimming in honey and you feel like you're drowning in it. The whole interview is a cycle of him asking a question, you answering it, and then him branching off onto a purple prose anecdote about some famous person he knows. God, if you didn't already have practice keeping your eyes open during Kankri Vantas's presentations at school, you'd be halfway to snoozeville.

“Miss Lalonde?” You glance up at him looking at you expectantly. Oh no! You spaced out just long enough to miss a question or some important part of his story or maybe your vegetated brain was starting to leak out your mouth. Either way, you call yourself to attention and lean forward in an attempt to make up for it. Oh yeah, you think, RoLal ready to nod her head and say 'uh huh' in all the empty pauses during Cue-ball Head's speech. However, Cue-ball Head doesn't go on with his speech, instead he lets out a chuckle and says, “I think we're done here, Miss Lalonde.”

Your stomach drops. You spaced out and lost your chance, you dunderhead. You withhold a disappointed moan as you get up from your chair and head towards the exit. The weight of a hundred sad kittens weighs upon your back as you leave, at least until his beautiful, douche bag voice pipes up in the silence. “Will I see you at work on Monday Morning, Miss Lalonde?”

The words stop you in your tracks. The viscous sound of his voice clogs the gears in your head, but once they process the information, you punch the air with glee. Hell to the yeah! You have to stop yourself from doing a celebratory jig in his office before turning to face him with a grin spread on your face. “Thank you, Mr. Scratch!” You blurt out before spinning on your heels and making a mad dash for the Bazaar of Grim and Dubious Oddities. Take that, Rosey! You are _not_ a lazy homebody.

 

-

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you wouldn't define your actions as stalking.

Could anyone blame you for merely noticing and admiring the paradigm of beauty and sophistication that inspected the display outside the neighboring store? She comes by daily and you couldn't help yourself from taking note of her short, onyx hair and eyes that seemed to be made of sculpted jade. It was hard not to admire the inhumane beauty of features carved by dark angels in the dead of night. She makes you wonder if she was born in a world of fey or perhaps the puberty fairy just hit her extra hard.

While you do not know her name, you have seen her face numerous times. She comes by almost daily to peruse the shoe store that inhabited the location next to your workplace. You watch with a small degree of scorn as the beauty's tall friend with the red shoes takes her hand and whisks her away where you can't see her. You exhale a breath and return to restocking a display of incense that sat on a table outside the Bazaar of Grim and Dubious Oddities. You remain meticulous in your task, carefully returning the pyramid of scented sticks to an earlier glory.

“Oh Rosey!”

You flinch and knock over the display. Shit.

“What?” you ask a little harsher than you mean to as your sister approaches. You can already guess that she has news about her job prospects, and good news if you can judge her based on her sunny exterior. However, by the time Roxy is kneeling down to help pick up the incense, her sunny exterior has been replaced by a childish pout.

“Never mind then, Miss Grumpypants,” she grumbles as she sets the fallen incense back on the table. You let out an irritable sigh that held but a tinge of guilt.

“No, what is it, Roxy?” you ask as you watch her get back to her feet.

“No way, Rosey, you had your chance,” she replies with an accusatory finger. “I would much rather talk about that pretty girl I saw you eying like a sale on black lacy corsets.”

“We're not doing this,” you say as you return to your task of repairing the great pyramid of arcadia aromas. “And I don't see what my affinity for beautiful bodices have to do with anything.”

“We are tots doing this, Rosey. Right now. Lingerie fetish notwithstanding,” Roxy says indignantly, crossing her arms and pointing to the ground.

“I don't think that's the correct usage of the word 'notwithstanding,'” you reply with a roll of you eyes.

“Ugh, Rose, you know what we are not doing right now? We are not changing the subject. C'mon, tell me, what's her name?” Roxy asks with a waggle of her eyebrows. An amused smirk finally graces your lips. Nosiness _notwithstanding_ , your sister has a way of making you laugh in any situation. You sigh exasperatedly as you pick up the now-empty incense box and make your way into the store.

“I don't know,” you answer honestly as she follows you through aisles of shelves stocked with every brand of majyyk. The Bazaar of Grim and Dubious Oddities sold the tools needed for any astrologist, soothsayer, or magician. The store smells strongly of rosemary and is never lit with much more than tiny, plastic flame light-bulbs throughout the front room. Candles are against mall policy. Usually Roxy delights in the figurines of ridiculous wizards holding a number of colorful orbs, but today she seems to be entranced by your romantic prospects.

“You don't know?” Roxy asks, smirking. Her voice is teasing as she continues, “You gonna find out?”

“Perhaps,” you answer slyly as you busy your hands with the amulets on display.

Roxy rolls her eyes. “ _Perhaps_ I will grow wings on my butt and fly to Equestria."

You look over at Roxy with the brightest smile you've worn all day hidden behind your hand. “You spend too much time with Dirk.”

“True,” she says, now looking at the aforementioned wizards. “But are you gonna mack on that 10 out of 10 beauty or not?”

Your smile fades and you turn your attention back to the amulets, focusing on one made of jade. You would love to talk to her at the very least. You wonder what her voice sounds like and what her interests are. You also wonder what's holding you back. Well, no. Actually, you don't have to wonder about that at all. “She likes someone else.”

“Oooh, bummer,” Roxy says, but you know you've lost her to the pewter, bearded men. You smile.

“Now, what were you going to tell me?” You ask, moving behind the counter. Roxy brightens and turns to grin at you.

“I got the job!” You knew she would.

“Congratulations,” you say with a sincere smile at your older sister. “Did Doc Scratch behave?”

You're not looking at her since she turned back away, but you can hear the distortion of her silly face in her reply. “Yeah, mostly.”

“Mostly?” you ask, feigning surprise. You are a favorite of Doctor Scratch's and you are fully aware of his proclivity to flirt with young staff members. Usually the pervert is harmless, but you aren't about to let your guard down. The man is simply unsettling.

Roxy sighs, holding a wizard figure in her hands. “Yeah, well, he called me cute and overall he gave me the heebie jeebies, but I probs overreacted while I was in there. Your stories made me all paranoid.”

“As they should. They're true. He does verbally harass the staff. However, the job is useful enough to put up with his douchebaggery and so is he on a good day,” you say with a small laugh as Roxy starts fishing through her pockets for cash. “Any questions about the mall or the area can be directed to him.”

“That why you stick around?” she asks, eying you suspiciously as she starts to pull things out of her purse to make the search for money easier.

“I like working here,” you take what might eventually be her wizard figurine and look it over with an amused smile.

“I'm sure,” Roxy teases with a look around at all the bizarre toys and trinkets that line the walls. “All your demon summoning needs, half price.”

“Actually, the demon summoning kits are buy one, get one free,” you correct with a smirk on your face.

“That and your whole 'fuck mom' thing,” Roxy says, distracted from her pursuit for money by a compact mirror she found. Your smirk drops.

“It's lot more complicated than that, Roxy.” You've never gotten along with your mother. Now was not the time to start.

“Sure it is, Rosey,” she replies with an exasperated sigh as she counts all the change she managed to scrounge up. You put the wizard back on the counter, tired of looking at it. Roxy looks up from her search for a moment to add, with sad eyes, “You know, I worry about you, Rose. You can be real bitter and shut off all the time.”

You don't answer and instead set your eyes on the wizard's intense expression, feeling your heart knot up inside you.

“God dammit, I don't have any money to buy the dang wizard!”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr - tentacool-therapist.tumblr.com


End file.
